Personal Day
by sidewinder
Summary: John doesn't normally take personal days. So when he does, Fin wants to find out why. (Fin/Munch slash, non-explicit.)


_**Author's Notes:** This story was inspired by a truly delightful work of Fin/Munch fan art by beedwise, which you can see for yourself here: beedwise deviantart com/art/Fin-Munch-561270316 (replace spaces with "." to get the url to work.)  
_

 _As soon as I saw it, I knew there had to be a story to go along with the image...and this was the one that came to me. This piece is a stand-alone, not connected to any other works I've posted (at the moment), and is set in the summer between seasons 9 and 10 of SVU. Characters property of NBC/Dick Wolf. Written purely for fun and not for profit. Please see the end for additional notes on SVU/Homicide canon for Munch vs what I've added here on my own to try to resolve conflicting details between the two._

* * *

 _July 31, 2008_

"Benson, Tutuola."

"Captain," Fin acknowledged as he stirred a packet of sugar into his morning coffee. "Got something for us?" He and Olivia had been discussing their respective plans for the weekend ahead—that was, if nothing kept them stuck at the precinct over the coming Saturday and Sunday.

Cragen handed a thick file to Fin. "We've got a rapist who may be targeting women he's met via a local online community. Third case that could potentially be tied to this group came in last night, so this is becoming a real priority. I need you both to do some research, try to contact some of the other women who are active on this web forum. Find out if they've had any suspicious encounters or incidents with men they've met from the group, maybe someone who was trying to take an online 'friendship' a step too far."

"Online communities and all that internet crap? Sounds like a case more up Munch's alley," Fin complained.

"It might be, but he took a personal day. And since Elliot's in court, so you two get the honors in their absence."

"Personal day?" Fin repeated, confused. "Munch don't take personal days." Sick days, sure—the man was a serious hypochondriac. But the last time he'd taken any "personal time" off was when his mother had gone through a health scare a few years ago, and he'd needed to help his brother move her into an assisted living facility. Beyond that, John didn't seem to _have_ a personal life so far as any of them knew, let alone need days off to do anything with it.

"Well he took one today, so have fun."

Fin shook his head and cursed quietly to himself as the captain walked off.

"What's the matter?" Olivia asked, noting Fin's displeasure. "A day without Munch going off about his latest crazy theories means we might actually be able to get some work done around here," she joked.

"That's true," Fin agreed, but he was still annoyed and more than a little puzzled by the situation. It figured that today of all days, his former partner would choose not to show up at work, and part of him was damn curious to know why. Unfortunately further speculations would have to wait until later since they now had work to get started on. "All right, let's see what we've got here." He opened the file. "The 'Raw Food Vegan Society of Manhattan'...do I even want to know?"

"Vegans are vegetarians who reject animal-derived products entirely: dairy, eggs, even honey. Raw food supporters exclude any food cooked at a high temperature," Olivia explained, looking over his shoulder at the file contents.

"How do you know all of that?"

"Some of the women I know at my gym are into one or both diets. It's a very health-conscious way of life. Better than the donuts and coffee we live on."

"If you say so. But what do these people get up to, hook-ups while chewin' on carrot sticks?" Olivia laughed and took the pages from the file Fin handed over to her. If John were here, Fin knew he'd no doubt have a retort handy about the evils of the modern American diet and how it was all a conspiracy by the government to keep the population unhealthy, and reliant on big pharmaceutical companies and their weight loss drugs.

It scared Fin that he so readily knew that was exactly what John would say. And he really wished he was there to say it to him, at that precise moment.

* * *

The day proceeded about as miserably as Fin had predicted it would as soon as they'd been given this case. Too many hours on the computer and making phone calls, then heading out to talk to people at various vegan cafes and restaurants in Manhattan which had only left him desperate for a hamburger as soon as the work day was over. He and Olivia had a few leads to follow up on in the morning, and one possible suspect to question once they'd pulled together enough evidence to call him in, but a previous victim they needed to re-interview for more details was out of town until the next day so it would have to wait until then.

After he'd clocked out and grabbed a bite to eat, Fin decided it wasn't too late in the evening to make a pest of himself and follow up on that other matter which had been bothering him since the morning: Munch. Maybe he was being crazy, and perhaps a bit too nosy, but he decided to head uptown to John's apartment and find out why he'd taken the day off. Today of all days, when Fin had really been hoping to see him, too.

Things had been strange and difficult at the sixteenth over the past year, and Fin didn't need something else to throw off what little sense of balance remained there. Everything and everybody had been shaken up and stirred all around, and it felt like the dust was still settling in ways Fin wasn't sure he liked. First Darius' trial and Olivia's suspension last summer, then John getting promoted which meant Fin ended up paired off with the new guy in their unit, Chester Lake.

Fin had liked Lake, at first, and had convinced himself for a time that it was nice to be working with someone else after all these years. Someone who didn't talk his ear off about ridiculous things and who seemed more in line with Fin's own personal ethics and values.

But then it had gone to Hell, again. Lake had been arrested and was awaiting trial for murder. Fin felt like he didn't know whom he could trust at the precinct any longer, except that it sure wasn't Elliot. He'd been so pissed off at the time, over the way Elliot had doubted and mistrusted him, that he'd filed for transfer to try to get away from it all. And now, still waiting on some kind of response months later, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear that his request had been granted or if he should stay behind and try to work things out.

He just missed the way things used to be. When it had been him and John, Olivia and Elliot, Cragen and Huang, and they had all worked together like a well-oiled machine. He'd thought about talking to John regarding officially partnering up again, and they had worked together on a few cases over the summer since Lake was gone for good. But it didn't seem right to talk about it until Fin knew for sure if _he_ was going to be sticking around much longer or not.

Even so, he felt strangely adrift without that smirking face being right across from his every morning at their desks. These days John seemed glued to the precinct's shiny new computer terminals and video screens instead, a silver-haired ghost floating through the sixteenth, somehow absent even when he was there every day like clockwork.

Except for today.

Fin parked his car, luckily finding a spot right across the street from John's building. Although it was mid-summer and muggy outside, he wore a light jacket against the rain which had been threatening on and off all day. He glanced upward, knowing precisely which windows belonged to John's apartment. The lights were on in at least one room, which he took as a good sign that the man was home.

Fin had a set of keys to get in so he didn't have to buzz up from downstairs. Funny, he remembered; John had suggested they exchange keys in case of emergencies within weeks of being partnered together. All the months Fin had been working with Lake, the idea had never crossed his mind once. Guilt flickered across his thoughts for a moment, recalling an accusation from Lake about him keeping his distance. But Fin pushed it aside—he had someone else on his mind tonight and he couldn't get hung up on the things he maybe should have done in the past, only the things that he could do right now.

Fin took the elevator, getting off on the fifth floor and heading to a familiar door. He paused outside it for a moment, listening. If it sounded like John had company over, he'd make a swift exit, not wanting to intrude. But he head no conversation, just the muffled sound of music. Jazz, it sounded like. Miles Davis, if Fin guessed correctly. Given that was all he heard, he knocked on the door and waited.

After a second knock, he picked up sounds of movement, someone approaching the door. A pause, John no doubt checking through the peephole to see who it was, and then he heard a chain being loosened and the deadbolt releasing. The door swung open and Fin was greeted by the sight of his old partner in a state he'd never seen him in before: clothed in nothing but a short terrycloth bath robe tied loosely about his waist, fuzzy flip-flop slippers, and of course his ever-present glasses.

"Fin, what are you doing here?"

Fin needed a moment to process the startling vision of bony limbs and pale skin in front of him before he himself could remember. "Uh. You took a personal day today."

"I'm aware of that. And?"

"Nothing, just...figured I'd make sure you were okay."

"I truly appreciate your concern, but here I am, perfectly fine."

"Yeah. I can see." Fin was seeing quite a lot right now and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

John pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze for a moment, then arched an eyebrow at Fin and said, "Well, you came all the way up here to visit me so why don't you come in."

"As long as you ain't up to anything...too personal, you know. On your personal day and all."

John snorted and stepped back from the door to let Fin inside. "As if. You want a beer?"

"I'm good for now." He followed John into the living room, stepping carefully around piles of books that had yet to find a place on his already overflowing shelves. John's apartment was virtually nothing but books, files, papers and more books, with a few places to sit and read all those books scattered here and there. John settled into a chair positioned far enough back from a large wooden desk such that he could stretch out his long legs, looking as though he'd been quite comfortably nesting there for hours.

Fin tried not to look too closely at whether John had anything on under that robe, which was so short it was dangerously close to giving away the answer regardless. "So why'd you take a day off?" he asked.

"Because I felt like it? Why are you so curious?"

"Because you don't just take off for a day. I've been—I was—" Fin corrected himself, "your partner for seven years. I know."

"I guess there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"Hmph."

"Fine, don't believe me. But the truth is, an author I greatly admire has a new book out. She had a reading and discussion scheduled this afternoon at Hudson U. and I always miss out on these things thanks to work. Maybe I decided I'm not getting any younger so I should stop missing out on opportunities that don't come along very often."

"That's true, you ain't getting any younger. Happy birthday." Fin reached in his jacket to pull out the modest-sized package he'd brought with him.

"What's this?" John asked as Fin handed it over.

"Your birthday present. Since you didn't come in to work today. Makin' me come all the way up here to your place to give it to you, you'd better like it."

"I didn't think you remembered." John studied the simply wrapped package from various angles.

"Go on, open it. But be careful with it."

John cautiously peeled open the gift wrap, revealing a book sealed a second time inside, only this time it was in heavy, clear plastic for protection. His eyes went wide when he recognized the title. "Is this really...?"

"First edition. It's not signed or anything, I don't have _that_ kind of cash. But the guy at the bookstore—that one I know you go to all the time—said it's still pretty valuable and collectible. That you've had one on your want list for years." Fin knew of course that John had a copy of _Profiles in Courage_ already—in fact he kept it on his desk at work. But supposedly first editions of the book were rare to come across, especially in such fine condition as the bookseller had managed to find for Fin. And from the look of absolute delight on John's face right at that moment it had been well worth the hefty price Fin had paid for it.

"Thank you. Fin. I really mean that."

"You are very welcome."

Fin carefully moved a pile of magazines off another chair in the living room, taking a seat while John fondled the newest addition to his collection appreciatively. "Don't lose it with all of the rest of these books."

"I never lose a book. I know where each and every one I have is located. They're all cataloged...up here." John pointed at his head.

"No wonder you ain't got room for much else in there."

The room fell quiet as the record that had been playing in the background came to an end. John got up for a moment, lovingly placing his gift down on the desk as he headed into the bedroom. Fin settled back into his chair, strangely comfortable in this cluttered space which he could only describe as emanating pure Munchness. The books, the scattered papers, the mismatched furniture and faded rugs all had a worn-in, eclectic charm...rather like the man who lived here.

Music soon warmed the air again. _Kind of Blue_. Someone was in the mood for the real classics tonight, and that was cool with Fin. John returned to the living room, back to his chair, and it almost seemed sacrilegious to speak for a while instead of properly appreciating the genius of Coltrane and Davis.

"You know, there actually was another reason I took off today," John finally admitted as the record faded into soft scratches and hisses for a moment between tracks.

"Surprise, surprise."

"I made it to fifty-seven today. A year longer than my father lived. That was an important milestone for me to contemplate."

"I know you told me, your dad died when you were still pretty young?" It had been something the two of them had shared in common, not having a father around while they were growing up.

"Well, thirteen. Barely a teenager." John paused, waiting to make sure he had Fin's full attention before continuing. "He killed himself."

Fin didn't say anything. He hadn't known it was suicide. He wondered if anyone did.

"My father...I suppose he had me beat in one regard; he only got divorced and remarried once. My mother was his second marriage. When they had me and then my brother Bernie, dad was already in his forties. I don't think he really wanted more kids since he already had a son with his first wife. But my mother, well...she was younger and what she wanted, she was going to get before it was too late—including the picture-perfect family she could brag about to all the other yentas in Pikesville."

"Pikesville?" Fin frowned at the unfamiliar name. "You're always telling people you grew up on the Lower East Side."

John shrugged. "I lie."

"Why?"

"Because it's easier than talking about how my dad blew his brains out one morning, sitting in his car in the garage in beautiful suburban Maryland instead of going in to work? How I blamed myself for years for it, because he'd yelled at me and punished me the night before, and I told him I hated his guts? That was the last thing I ever said to him. 'I hate you.' That's a Hell of a thing to carry with you for the rest of your life."

"A kid can't make a grown man kill himself. Your father's the only one to blame for doing that, to you and your brother, and your mother." Fin had a hard time feeling sympathy for people who took their own lives. He'd seen too much of the unresolved pain and sorrow they left behind, those who had to deal with the loss and somehow make sense of it.

"I realize that now, of course. Years on I figured out he had a lot more problems than me he was battling. I'm quite certain he was bipolar—of course undiagnosed and untreated—based on things my mother and other relatives have told me. Depression seems to run in the Munch family tree through all of its unstable branches. You remember my Uncle Andrew showing up the way he did."

Fin nodded. "How's he doing today?"

"You don't really want to know. But with my father...I've had my moments of understanding all too well why he did it. Nights when I spent too long contemplating the barrel of my own gun and wondering if there wasn't something better waiting on the other end of it. Even just not having to deal with another day of...this." John waved absently at the space around them. "That's why making it another year, one year longer than he did...I needed to mark that today, in my own way. Take the time for a little cultural indulgence and reading. A walk through Fort Tryon Park, appreciating how New York can actually be a lovely place, even in the rain. Listening to music that somehow transforms sorrow into beauty."

Fin felt as though there should be something meaningful he should say, words more eloquent and supportive than, "I didn't know," but that was all he could manage.

"And now you do." John turned away for a moment, scratching his chin, and then looked back at Fin to say, "I think I could use a drink. Are you ready for that beer yet?"

"Yeah, sure."

John got up again, this time heading to the apartment's small kitchen. Fin followed, noting the tidiness of this one book-free space compared to the rest of the place. Fin figured that was because it likely saw very little use; as John opened the fridge there was nothing in it save a few take-out containers, yogurt cups and beer bottles. John pulled out two of last, popped the caps and handed one chilled bottle to Fin. "Thanks."

"Sure." John took a swig, then leaned against the old linoleum countertop. "So. You hear anything about your transfer request yet?"

"Not a damn thing." Fin had a drink, then put his bottle down on the counter. "I'm beginning to wonder what could be holding it up all this time. Or _who_ might be holding it up," Fin added, suddenly feeling a bit suspicious about the unusual delay.

"Trust no one," John answered, his poker face revealing nothing.

"You would say that."

"Actually it was an old acquaintance of mine who was fond of that phrase." John took another drink from his bottle and then put it down next to Fin's.

"You know it's a little weird you couldn't be bothered to put a pair of pants on or something when you let me in."

"Nothing saying you can't get more comfortable yourself."

Fin shook his head and laughed. "Nah, I think I'm good."

"I wish you'd reconsider. About the transfer, I mean. I know you have your issues with Elliot right now, but honestly, who among us hasn't at some point? Even 'Liv's had her times when she needed to get away from him for a while, but she always came back. Because she's too good at this job, and the unit needs her. Like we need you."

"I need to know that I can count on the people I'm working with to be trustworthy and watch my back."

"And did I ever let you down on either point?"

"Yeah. When you took the sergeant's exam without telling me," Fin blurted out. The not-so-old wound was still raw, though he regretted his words when he caught John flinch. "But I've never doubted you'd put your life down for mine, and I'd do the same for you."

"You're right, and I know you would." John had another drink and looked as though he had a further serious comment to make, but then his expression lightened into a thin smile. "You know, since I'm doing things today I normally wouldn't, there's something else I'd like to scratch off my bucket list."

"Yeah? What's that."

John moved a step closer, close enough to put his hands on Fin's shoulders and, with no further warning nor prelude, kissed him squarely on the lips. John's kiss was no causal peck or smooch, either, oh no; this was full-on lip lock with a little dirty tongue action thrown in for good measure.

And oddly enough (but then maybe, not so much), Fin kind of dug it. He didn't pull away, didn't resist and it wasn't from being so shocked that he couldn't figure out how to respond. In a way he wasn't even shocked at all, only relieved to have his long held suspicions confirmed.

John eventually pulled back, giving Fin a questioning look that suggested he was waiting for some kind of comment. "You been wanting to do that for a long time, haven't you," Fin offered.

"You think?"

"I think...you're a very strange man, Munch. And for some damn reason I've always liked that about you."

John grinned, hands still on the collar of Fin's shirt as if he were afraid to let go. "Yeah, well...we're not partners any longer, so nothing to lose, right?"

"We might not be working together anymore, but we're still partners. No job, no rank, no one else is gonna change that." Fin slid an arm around John's narrow waist and took the initiative this time, intent on making it clear that the feelings here were mutual. Lips met for a second time, parting, eager for another taste. A sense of rightness fell over Fin as this deeper connection between them was finally acknowledged, everything that had been there for years, unspoken.

Unbroken, in spite of it all.

"Happy birthday to me," John breathed against Fin's mouth, eyes sparkling with mischief that even his tinted glasses couldn't disguise. Mischief, gratitude and love that didn't need to be put into words because it was there already, in the smile Fin felt spreading across his own face and the warmth in his chest, in his hands slipping loose the knot of John's belt and the way it felt to simply be here, like this, as they were always meant to be.

"Happy birthday. Here's to many more," Fin promised before claiming another kiss, knowing that from this night forward, he'd do whatever it took to be sure they'd have those years to celebrate together.

* * *

 _ **End notes:** So the SVU writers did Munch fans no favors with the way they changed his backstory from what was canon in Homicide: Life on the Street (and I don't know any Munch fan who would want to ignore "Kaddish"). But then, the SVU writers also added details which you don't want to ignore, either, in great episodes like "Legacy" and "Painless". So this was basically me trying to reconcile the two canon backstories in the only way that made sense to me, which was to assume that Munch lied in SVU about originally being from New York, just to keep his real family history private as much as possible. Also, in Homicide, John first mentions a brother named David, but in SVU he's got a brother named Bernard. In "Kaddish" we only saw one (younger) unnamed brother on screen. Hence my idea that one or the other brother might actually be a half-sibling from a previous marriage by his parents, one whom John didn't necessarily grow up with. So those elements are my added head canon for this piece._


End file.
